


Arranged

by CuriosityRedux



Series: Dragon Drabbles AU's [12]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, F/M, Hiccstrid - Freeform, Partly NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityRedux/pseuds/CuriosityRedux
Summary: Astrid thought the hero of Berk would be cocky and snide. Hiccup thought his new bride would be blushing and demure. Neither exactly got what they expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Arranged**

**-**

“Just get it over with,” she told him flatly, pulling away from his reaching hand to yank at the sash of her robe. The warm velvet fell back to expose her near transparent bridal clothes. She couldn’t see his expression, but his long fingers curled back into his palm before dropping back to his side. 

“Romantic,” he noted, the word caught somewhere between an awkward attempt at conversation and a question. 

Astrid cut her gaze up to him as she shrugged out of the robe. She threw it unceremoniously over the desk where he’d placed her bridal crown. “I don’t have a maidenhead, but don’t worry– it was a childhood accident. So you don’t have to be gentle or anything, just finish quickly.”

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III– her husband– either laughed or scoffed. Shaking his head, he searched the inside of his cheek with his tongue and rested his hands on his skinny hips. “Unbelievable,” he whispered.

She lifted a brow at him. He should have known this was coming. Sure, she could play polite and obedient bride for the villagers who would one day become her people, but for a husband she’d only met for the third time today? Stoick the Vast’s scrawny, dragon-loving heir should have expected less than a warm reception in their marriage bed. 

Gathering the skirt of her nightgown around her hips, she crawled onto the bed and leaned back with a sigh. She refused to blush like he did while her most intimate places were exposed. “Hurry. I’m tired.”

He wouldn’t even look at her. His mouth pulled into a taut frown as he kept his face turned away, his gaze on the dark bedroom window. Color brightened his cheeks, and he shifted his weight from his real foot to his prosthetic one and back. “Could you put your dress back down, please?”

Astrid scowled. “I’m not interested in whatever sweet intimacies you have in mind. If it’s distracting, you can cover it up. With your dick.”

“Oh, for the gods’ sake.” Hiccup snatched her robe off of the desk and threw it over her. Then he took a step back so he could look her in the eye, though the flush didn’t drain from his face and neck. “Did I do something wrong? Why are you mad at me?”

She sat up on her elbows and decided not to resist the urge to stare at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m naked in our bed waiting for you. From my side of things, you’re the one with a problem here.”

“I’m not just gonna… stick it in you…” Even his ears were turning red. Wow. What a brash, brutal Viking she’d won herself for a husband. “What’s going on? You were fine all day.”

Sitting up, she pulled her hair over one shoulder. “Maybe you missed it, Hiccup, but I was handed over like a shipment of mead today.” Ire boiled in her chest, finally spilling over after hours of being primped and preened and directed and pushed and pulled and played like a pretty little puppet. “I don’t want to pretend to be happy about a near stranger consummating our marriage.”

His jaw hung slack, his mouth working as if trying to form words. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed a humorless chuckle. “So– so all the shyness, all the forced conversation– none of that was because you’re a blushing bride away from home for the first time?”

“Hardly.” Her tone was dry and unamused. 

Hiccup turned away from the bed and looked up at the ceiling. “So I’m guessing all the stuff I was fed about you being excited for this, about you liking me and wanting to be a part of Berk’s whole dragon revolution– that– that was all yakshit too?”

She found herself shifting her skirts beneath the cover of her bridal robe, pulling them back down. “Sorry to spoil your fantasies. I’m sure you’re used to getting what you want.”

He spun back around, and she straightened, prepared for a fight. “Do you even know what you’re talking about?” His brow was creased with irritation, a wry sort of grin tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the angry finger he had pointed at himself. “Do you know anything about me?”

“Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III,” she began to recite. “Son of the famous Stoick the Vast. Rider of the last Night Fury. Saved his entire village at fourteen and has been basking in the glory ever since. Dragon tamer and innovator extraordinaire! _Points_ and women are wrapped up like packages and shipped off to be his wife.”

“I didn’t want this either!” he hissed, sounding so much like the dragon she’d refused to pet the first time she ever saw his face. The words took her aback, made her lean away just slightly. “I didn’t want to be _married_. _Especially_ to somebody I hardly know!”

Astrid wasn’t sure how to respond at first. A shocked, heavy silence fell between them, accented by the sound of her pulse in her ears. 

“You didn’t want to marry me?” he snapped. “Then why didn’t you say anything sooner? I liked you, yeah. You were pretty and cool and Toothless seemed to like you. But I wasn’t the one who brought up a wedding. _Your_ people were.” Pacing the length of the room, he raked his fingers through reddish-brown hair. “If you’d said something, I wouldn’t have gone through with it. Dammit!”

It was as if she’d gotten sloppy in combat and taken a blow to the gut. She couldn’t breathe, glancing down at the bed furs as she tried to process this impossible information. Now that she thought about it… maybe all the awkward behavior at the handsal and the ceremony hadn’t been meekness, but disinterest. Maybe the dampness in his palms when he’d taken her hands wasn’t nervous excitement, but anxious uncertainty. The hesitant smiles, the way he curled his arm around her without ever touching her– maybe none of it was as she thought.

“I’ll sleep in the stables,” he suddenly grumbled, prosthesis scraping the floorboards as he moved towards the door. 

“Wait–” she heard herself say, treasonous hand reaching towards him. Quickly withdrawing the hand before he could turn and see it, she pursed her mouth and waited for him to pause and sigh. “Just. Just hold on.”

He didn’t move, but he let his head fall over his shoulder to give her a withering glance. Astrid pulled the velvet robe back around her, shoving her arms through the sleeves, and then clambered off of the bed. She pulled him to face her. Then, not meeting his gaze, she unclasped the shiny black mantle around his shoulders. Threw it on the bed. Rustled his hair, tugged his shirt free and loose, and yanked at the laces of his pants until they hung a little askew on his hips. 

“There,” she muttered. She uncomfortably crossed her arms in front of her breasts and stepped back, jerking her chin towards the door as if to say _go_.

Hiccup pulled on his shirt as if to inspect it before brushing it off and giving her an unreadable look. But he didn’t say anything else. He took great care not to brush her shoulder when he stepped aside and slipped out the bedroom door.

* * *

The next night, she was already asleep before she heard him moving downstairs. 

It’d been another day of wedding fun and festivities, with drinking and eating and cornering her family in the Great Hall to speak in hushed tones about what they’d done. Nobody suspected anything was amiss, clapping Hiccup on the back and giving her far from subtle winks. The young man she’d come to know as her husband’s cousin continued sitting too close and trying to slip his arm around her. The blonde twins asked her more questions about her own island, though the girl did try luring the conversation closer and closer to the wedding night that didn’t happen. And– to her extreme displeasure– dragons wandered to and fro and sniffed at her with curiosity. She flinched every time one drew close enough to grab her attention.

Her husband was obviously less interested in the feasting than he’d been the day before. There were no more nervous grins, no easy-going jokes, none of the nasally laughter that had scraped her patience yesterday. He adopted a tempered, close-lipped smile when he was spoken to, but otherwise kept a bored expression and fiddled restlessly with his mug.

They’d left together, for appearances sake, but he took off on his dragon after walking her to the front door of his– their– house. But now she could hear him moving around downstairs. Shifting in the warm blankets of a too-large bed, she rubbed sleepy eyes and listened to the sound of crinkling paper. A fork on a plate. Various buckles clinking together. A dragon’s snoring, and then later, a human snore to match. 

She pulled the pillow over her head and tried to drown them out.

* * *

“Stop,” she whispered to the Night Fury trying to worm his head into her lap. Where was his rider? She was iffy about swatting it, unsure whether it would try and bite off her hand in the middle of her wedding celebration. But she didn’t want it touching her either. 

The dragon– Toothless– whined and blinked at her. Then his gaze slid longingly to her plate of food. 

Astrid wrinkled her nose at the attempt at a domestic act. She’d watched the same dragon snatch whole fish from peoples’ dishes while they weren’t looking. “No,” she told him in low tones. “Go beg from someone else.”

Toothless snuggled his head further onto her lap, managing to push her chair back from the table with a loud scrape. Her hands flew up, and she found herself wanting for the knives still packed with her things. Reflex, of course. She wouldn’t really stab the thing– unless he attacked her first– but it would take more than some wide eyes for her to soften towards her husband’s pet beast.

“Go.” She waved her fingers at it. “Shoo. Leave me alone.”

He licked his lips.

Sighing, she looked up in search of Hiccup. There were too many drunk Berkians crowded throughout the Great Hall, though, so she could hardly see past the few groups standing near their table. None of the other people whose names she could remember, either. With a short, annoyed groan, she glanced back at the Night Fury. 

Picking up a chunk of mutton from a puddle of gravy, she held it out so Toothless could see before tossing it a few feet away. The dragon made a gurgling noise of happiness before pouncing towards the little offering. Then he licked his chops and sat straight, staring again. 

Astrid gave another sweep of the room. Nobody spoke to her, not even members of her own tribe. Her parents were lost to the festivities, and her new in-laws were nowhere in sight. She might as well have been a pretty portrait on display. Scowling, she selected another piece of meat from her plate and tossed it towards Toothless. She wasn’t going to be eating it anyways. 

There was suddenly a scrabbling noise. A trio of Terrible Terrors tumbled out from beneath the tablecloth and began pawing at her calves. 

She scoffed. “No. Go." 

A brownish Gronkle in the corner noticed the goings-on and perked with interest. It puttered over and– after exchanging some growly noises with Toothless– sat back and gave her a tongue-lolling smile. 

Giving the Night Fury a betrayed glare, she shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. Tell them to go somewhere else." 

Even as she spoke, though, a Zippleback head appeared over her shoulder. She started and yelped. Then the second head began lapping at her gravy-covered fingers. A young Nightmare tried crawling under the tablecloth, bumping its head on the underside of the table and rattling hers and Hiccup’s dishes. It accidentally dragged the tablecloth askance when it popped out between the group of Terrors.

"Hey, hey, hey!” A familiar voice suddenly cut through the cacophony of party chatter. The dragons scattered, and Astrid twisted to see her husband headed towards her. “There’s plenty of food for you _outside_ , ya greedy monsters." He waved his hands toward the table, commanding the dragons away, and they scrambled to obey. 

Toothless didn’t run off, but he did hurry close and start nuzzling her shoulder. The warm purring of his breath on her collarbone felt odd and a little frightening. 

Hiccup stopped in front of the table, folding his arms and almost trying to look intimidating. "Oh suuure,” he told the Night Fury. “You’re just cuddling. You wouldn’t beg for food from Astrid, would you, Toothless?”

The dragon responded by wriggling his head beneath her arm and leaning against her breast. She lifted her uneasy gaze to the dragon-rider. Her fingers dangled awkwardly over her lap.

Hiccup shook his head. “I thought you were above that.” Then he tilted his head in a dismissive gesture, and the Night Fury made a noise that almost sounded like a defeated sigh. Slinking away, he went off in search of another victim. 

“Thanks,” she said, rolling her shoulder like it’d been injured. “Lesson learned.”

He chuckled, raising his cup to his lips. His mood was better today, but still reserved and a little grumpy, though it didn’t seem directed towards her. “Don’t worry about it. He still gets Dad with the lap thing.”

Astrid searched for Stoick the Vast among the crowd of people and found the horns of his helmet above them all. It was hard to imagine the tall, broad, powerful chief giving into the begging of a dragon. He _had_ given Toothless a fond pat, however, the first time they visited her island to sign the peace treaty between their villages. 

“C'mon,” Hiccup said then, extending a hand towards her. “I’ll introduce you to some more people.”

She wiped Zippleback saliva off of her fingers before accepting.

* * *

“You can sleep in the bed,” she mumbled from the top of the stairs when she found him sprawled uncomfortably over the sitting chair in the living room. 

“I’m fine,” he replied politely, clearing his throat and throwing his leg over one arm. 

She tapped at the railing. “We’re married. You can’t do that forever.”

It didn’t take long for her to give up and return to their– her?– room with a sigh. She crawled back beneath the furs and stared thoughtlessly into the dark. A few minutes later, though, the door creaked open. A prosthesis thunked on the floor. She didn’t roll over to watch him, but after a moment, the blankets were drawn back, and the bed dipped under his weight.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She thought about her axe, now leaning against the wall, and ached for the familiar feeling of its weight in her hand. But that was just a comfort. Despite the fact that his back was hardly an inch or two from hers, she could feel its warmth. By the sounds of his breathing, she knew that it was a long time before he fell asleep. It was even longer before she joined him.

* * *

Her parents were yelling somewhere behind her, but she didn’t listen. She was seething, her hand throbbing with white-hot fire and her chest burning with a fury just as warm. Hiccup had one arm barred across her, but whether he was holding her back or protecting her, she wasn’t sure. 

“I think she broke my jaw,” his cousin slurred to the group of Vikings who’d gathered close to inspect the damage. He cupped his face with both hands, glaring in her direction.

“I’m sure she had a good reason,” Stoick the Vast rumbled diplomatically. While his brows had shot up when the action broke out, her father in law didn’t seem particularly upset or surprised at the situation. 

Hiccup glanced at her. “It’s okay,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Everybody knows what Snot’s like. What’d he say?”

She snarled, meeting her husband’s eyes but not willing to go into the details of his cousin’s comment with everyone listening. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t sure _why_ it had set her off as much as it had. Really, it wasn’t so much the fact that Snotlout was trying to invite her into his bed– it was the things he was saying about Hiccup to get her there. And it wasn’t so much that he was insulting Hiccup as he was insinuating that their marriage hadn’t been properly consummated. 

And so, with weeks of anger and frustration and hate boiling in her blood, she decked him. 

There’d been shouting, panicking, dragons growling, Berkians gasping, and all sorts of ruckus before she was pulled away from Snotlout and _he_ was pulled off the floor. Even now, he stumbled drunkenly against the arms of some vaguely-familiar relative.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” she hissed, instead of rehashing the entire lewd discussion. 

Hiccup gave her a short nod and then looked back to the rest of the questioning crowd. “Looks like we’ll be turning in early,” he told them with a little wave. “Don’t drink and fly!" 

Then he was tugging on her waist, whistling for Toothless and guiding her through the ocean of bodies. She was still fuming, wanting to go back for another punch. That one had felt so good, been such a wonderful stress reliever. She almost hoped somebody else would try saying something. But she clenched her jaw and let Hiccup lead her out of the Great Hall. The cool air felt good on her hot cheeks. 

"You wanna go for a ride?” he asked, and even though his words didn’t make sense, she nodded.

“Just get me away from him before I shove his balls up his ass.”

Her husband’s brows shot up, and his mouth fell into a surprised, crooked kind of smile. But if he found her answer too violent– her mother was always chastising her for not being ladylike enough– he didn’t say so. Instead, he slipped his hand from the small of her back and beckoned Toothless over. Leaning over, he fiddled with his prosthesis before throwing a leg across the Night Fury’s back and hitching into the saddle. 

“C'mon.” He twisted and patted the space behind him. “It’ll clear your mind.”

Her jaw dropped. He _had_ said “ride”, hadn’t he? And she _did_ just agree, didn’t she? Astrid cursed her temper and gaped. Even the dragon looked back at her expectantly. 

“Can’t- can’t you just take me home?” She would walk home herself if he’d let her. Anything but climbing on that beast. 

“You’re not still scared of him, are you?” Hiccup held out his hand.

“I’m not scared!” she snapped, even as she recognized the note of teasing in his tone. 

“Then get on,” he challenged. His hands settled on the handlebars installed to the horn of the saddle as he grinned at her.

She scoffed quietly, dropping her gaze to the empty spot behind him. The noise of the feasting still continued from the Great Hall, music and shouting muffled through the night air. Dragon chirping whistled behind them, from the stables. Berk was a loud place, she was realizing. 

Then, because she didn’t want him to think she was afraid, she frowned and shuffled forward. It took some adjusting for her to stretch her leg over and find a comfortable position, but he waited patiently until she rested her hands on his waist. Then he leaned forward to give Toothless a pat on the neck, murmuring a command she couldn’t make out. 

Her arms crushed him to her chest when they took off and left the little island behind them.

* * *

“What– ah–” Hiccup held his hands up, as if in surrender from an attack. 

She sat back on his thighs, searching between bedcovers and clothing. “It’s been four days. We have to do this.”

“No, we really don’t,” he laughed nervously. Then her wandering fingers found it– warm and twitching but not quite hard– and he yelped. 

She squeezed, testing the lump with a stroking thumb. “Are you not going to do your husbandly duty?”

“Hah– ah– ahem…” He swallowed, and she could tell that he was blushing even in the dim candlelight. “I was waiting.”

“For?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged, hesitantly resting his hands on her knees. “Uh… You? Us? I wanted you to feel more… comfortable.”

Tilting her head at him, she rubbed the heel of her palm against the seam of his pants. That seemed to make him throb, to encourage his growth. She’d never had any experience with the male body, but she’d been plenty educated on how it operated.

“I’d feel more comfortable without this hanging over our heads.” Lifting up so she could pull back the furs, she shoved his tunic up over his stomach and began working at the knot of his pants.

“Astrid.” He suddenly grabbed her wrists, stopping her. Green eyes demanded her attention. “I don’t want what you want,” he whispered. “To just– get it over with? I don’t want to do it like that.”

She pulled her hands free but didn’t try undoing the laces again. For a second, she considered arguing with him. Walking around the village, having people stare at her or make bawdy jokes at dinner– she felt like a liar. She wanted this taken care of, in case legal or political issues came up. What things might they say about her if it got out that their marriage hadn’t been consummated? What might they say about him?

But for some reason, she didn’t want to argue. She thought about pretending to be the gasping, lusty woman all men traded stories about over alcohol, but that wasn’t her either. So with a roll of her eyes and a sharp sense of disappointment, she crawled back to her side of the bed and faced the wall. 

It took a few minutes before he readjusted the furs again. She heard the puff of his breath as he blew out the candle. And then after he settled into a comfortable position, she felt knuckles brush the back of her neck. His hand stayed there until morning. 

* * *

Saying goodbye to her parents was harder than she thought it’d be. She’d been so angry with them lately that she’d hardly spoken to them. But now that they were leaving her on Berk to go back to her _real_ home, she wanted them to stay a little longer. She told her mother so as they loaded the ships with gifts from the chief and his son. 

“We’ll come visit before the year’s out,” her mother promised, tucking back a blonde strand that had come loose from Astrid’s marriage braids. “And of course we’ll come right away if there’s a babe.”

She felt a little warmth rise to the bridge of her nose and hoped her mother didn’t notice that she couldn’t meet her gaze. Hiccup would have to touch her before he could get her pregnant. If they were keeping their fingers crossed for grandchildren any time soon, their hands might start to cramp.

But she didn’t say any of that. She nodded obediently and let her parents hug her tightly. 

* * *

“I didn’t think you could drink,” the girl twin– Ruffnut– commented as Astrid slammed her mug down on the tabletop and cringed. “You didn’t touch much of the stuff at the feast.”

She wiped a stray drop away from her chin with the back of her hand. “I drink,” she answered succinctly. 

The Great Hall was significantly quieter and calmer at a normal dinner than it had been for the past week. No raucous music or dancing, no drunk relatives tripping over furniture, no fist fights or deafening shouting. She could even hear the popping noise of the fire in the hearth, it was so quiet. 

“Isn’t there food at _your_ house?” Snotlout grumbled, obviously still sore over their conflict. 

She paused in the middle of picking up her fork. Yes, their kitchen was overflowing with stews and dried meats and breads and pies. Would the people of Berk take offense to her eating with the rest of them instead of staying in?

“I didn’t want to eat alone,” she replied with a touch of indignation. Hiccup was out late, taking a message via dragon to a fishing ship out on the water. There was no telling when he’d be back.

“Well, you’re welcome to eat with us!” the big one, Fishlegs, chirped with an open gesture. “We’ve known Hiccup all our lives, so you’re among friends here.”

Astrid summoned a polite smile, though it wasn’t completely ingenuine. “Thanks." 

"Yeah, we knew Hiccup _before_ he became the cool guy,” Tuffnut told her proudly, pointing a spoon at her. “Back when he was a twerp.”

She lifted a brow. “A twerp?" 

"Hiccup hasn’t always been… tall,” Fishlegs provided, wincing as if he was uncomfortable discussing the subject. 

“You think he’s skinny now?” Ruffnut added to her brother’s previous statement. “You should have seen him before. Skin and bones, with a metal foot.”

“And he was a dumbass, too!”

“Gods was he!”

“Always messing things up for everybody." 

The twins simultaneously shoved food into their mouths, chewing with stuffed cheeks. Astrid found herself both curious and inexplicably agitated. Nobody had spoken ill of Hiccup since the first time she’d heard his name. He was the village hero, the tamer of dragons, the one who would bring peace to the barbaric archipelago. He rode a Night Fury for gods’ sake, and he wore a sword of fire strapped to his thigh. Snot’s insult at the wedding celebration was the first time she’d heard anyone say anything about him that wasn’t teeming with laud.

"What do you mean?” she mumbled around a forkful of carrots. 

“He was always screwing up,” Snotlout replied, suddenly happy to be a part of the conversation. “Getting in the way, setting the dragons free, hurting people with his stupid inventions. Everybody called him ‘Hiccup the Useless’.”

The twins laughed, but Astrid found herself scowling. It wasn’t exactly protectiveness that she was feeling in her gut, but it was a sizzling kind of irritation anyways. Perhaps she shouldn’t have finished off a mead that strong that quickly. That surely accounted for the bizarre urge to tell them to shut up. 

“Who would’ve known that Hiccup would be _this_ Hiccup?” Tuffnut sighed and shook his head. 

“He’s still a dork,” Snotlout bit out. 

Astrid and Fishlegs glared. 

“But I bet he’s good in bed,” Ruffnut interjected, her wistful tone lightening the mood. That had Astrid’s head snapping back to stare at her with wide eyes. “Blacksmith’s hands. Dragon rider hips. And I’m sure he had to inherit _something_ from Stoick the _Vast_.”

Astrid choked. Across the table, Fishlegs spat out his drink. Astrid felt her face turn a bright red as she coughed and cut her gaze away from the table. 

“I think that’s an affirmative.” Tuffnut’s tone was awed. “Is it really that big?”

She reached for Ruffnut’s drink, trying to soothe the coughing fit that had begun in her throat and chest. 

“Oh man, she’s blushing hard.”

“I bet she’s used to hard.”

Mead stuck in her windpipe, and Astrid straightened. Waving her hands in front of her, she shook her head and tried to blink back the tears stinging her eyes. “No,” she rasped, “It’s not…”

They laughed and teased her some more, but after a while, Ruffnut reached around the table to pat her back. Astrid swallowed hard and made a mental note to invite the twins to a sparring match once she got back into her regular work outs. She wasn’t one to be made fun of, and she’d let them know soon enough.

“I’m not surprised,” Snotlout sniffed. He sat back, folding his arms over his chest. “Hiccup’s been scrawny since the day he was born. Fishbone arms, fishbone legs, fishbone–”

“It’s huge.”

She didn’t know where it came from, but at the sight of his smug face, Astrid couldn’t help but feel that burning hate. If the bruises along his jaw weren’t enough, she’d settle for bruising his ego. 

The rest of the table went quiet for a second, all eyes pinned on her. She prayed that her face wouldn’t turn warm under all their gazes. 

“Seriously. It hardly fit." 

This time Tuffnut was the one choking. His sister didn’t offer a hand for him, though. Fishlegs’ ears turned the color of a sunset. And Snotlout just stared with what looked like stunned defeat. 

Satisfied, Astrid stood. "In fact, I’m going to go wait up for him. Night.”

* * *

He crawled into bed far too late. The cool of night still clung to his clothes, and he sounded exhausted from just the climb up the stairs. With a quiet groan, he adjusted his pillow beneath his head and rolled over to face her. It wasn’t an entire minute before she could feel the soft exhales of his snores in her hair. 

She thought about it. Then slowly, so he wouldn’t wake, she shifted back into his wind-chilled skin.

* * *

“This is third position,” he instructed, guiding her ankle into the proper place. Behind her, she heard Toothless’ prosthetic tail snap taut. 

Really, she wasn’t all that thrilled about having to learn the various intricacies of the Night Fury’s tailfin. She nodded and listened and paid attention, but she wasn’t bubbling with enthusiasm like her husband. Still, she wanted to be able to fly a dragon like the rest of the Berkians. And Toothless was the only one she trusted as of yet. 

“What happened to him?” she asked, curiosity distracting her from his lessons. 

Hiccup straightened, cheerful expression slowly dropping. He wet his lips and hesitated for a moment before saying, “I… happened.”

She blinked, waiting for him to continue. 

Rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture she was learning to associate with his discomfort, he cringed. “I shot him down. With a bola launcher. I made the tail so he could fly, but his fin’ll never grow back.” He reached over to scratch at the dragon’s ear. 

Astrid looked back at the bright red leather. It seemed gaudy at first, just like his flight suit. After a few days, though, she stopped noticing it– the same way she’d stopped noticing _Hiccup’s_ prosthesis. It was just a part of him.

“I think he’s forgiven me, though,” Hiccup said a little brighter. He made a face at Toothless, and the dragon returned the expression with a slimy lick. “Haha. Yep. We’re good.”

For some reason, she all at once felt absurdly sympathetic towards the dragon beneath her. She, too, had been shot out of the sky, taken unaware and crashing down in a strange place. Hiccup was her attacker and her defender– her foe and her friend. It was his fault she was stuck here with people she hardly knew in a marriage that was hardly real. Would she learn how to forgive him in time too?

* * *

“Don’t come in!”

Astrid froze at the sharp command, hand still on the door to their bedroom. It was strange to find Hiccup home before her, and even stranger that he raised his voice. She peeked through the thin crack in the doorway and was met with the pale stretch of Hiccup’s freckled back. He was undressed, but he wasn’t rushing to cover himself. She noticed the prosthesis discarded and resting on top of the bed. She could only barely see from this angle, but he had his left leg pulled up in his lap, and he was massaging the blunt end of his shin. 

She stepped back, words sticking in her throat. “S-sorry. Is everything okay?”

On the other side of the door, he paused. She waited, even considering heading back downstairs, until he spoke. “Yeah. The weather makes my leg act up. Just… give me a few minutes, okay?”

Nodding, even though he couldn’t see it, she licked her suddenly dry lips. “Yeah. Okay.”

Heart fluttering weirdly, she turned and descended the stairs. As she raised her hands to her face, she felt the warmth of her cheeks against the backs of her fingers. The sight of her husband’s back should have been an innocent sight, nothing worth getting worked up over. But she’d never seen it. He was slender, yes, but there was muscle hidden beneath his multiple layers. In his shoulders, especially. He had a few burn marks puckering his pale skin, and the dimples at the base of his spine had been visible. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

Astrid shook her head, as if she could shake the image from her mind. Wringing her hands in front of her, she walked away from the staircase and dropped into Hiccup’s sitting chair by the hearth. Outside, thunder rumbled lowly. She realized that the rain was probably what brought him in so soon.

There was a shifting noise from the corner, and she glanced over to see Toothless twisting and rolling in his bed. The dragon grumbled, sitting up and biting at his tail before laying back down. But then just seconds later, he stood and repositioned himself once more. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Astrid watched for a minute, concerned, and then Toothless nibbled at his tail once more. 

Lightning flashed in the window. She heard her husband’s words a second time– _the weather makes my leg act up_ – and she shook her head with a huff of disbelief. 

This man and his dragon must have been soulmates. 

She crossed the living room, hesitating for just a moment before kneeling by the great Night Fury. He warbled questioningly and tilted his head at her, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she unbuckled the straps of his prosthetic fin and slipped the device off his tail. 

Toothless snapped it a couple of times, almost like a whip, and then he tried gnawing at it again. 

“Hey. Stop.” She reached for the dragon’s heavy tail, laying the tip across her lap so that his good fin blanketed her knee. Then she began rubbing the scarred, frayed flesh of the other side. Massaging it, just as she’d watched Hiccup doing to his own leg. 

Astrid was worried she’d hurt him at first, that she’d do something wrong and he’d chomp off her hands in one clean bite. But he only whirred and purred and shifted so that he was curled around her. He was warm and docile, like a grossly oversized kitten. She stroked his tail and listened to the rain on the roof and pictured her husband’s freckled back in her mind’s eye. 

Eventually her hands began to cramp. Her back began to ache with prickling pinpoints of pain. But Toothless was content, and she didn’t want to move. 

“Huh.”

Hiccup’s voice was quiet on the top of the stairs. She twisted to look over at him. He was still shirtless, but he’d put on pants, and he had one hand shoved deep in a pocket. His mouth was hanging open, his expression stunned, and his other hand was still on the back of his neck. 

Astrid flushed, glancing down at the Night Fury’s tail in her lap. “I, um. I think it was bothering him. Too. The weather.”

“Probably,” Hiccup mumbled, but his eyes were fixed on her. One corner of his mouth was tilting upwards. For the first time since she stepped on Berk, she felt like maybe she’d done something right.

* * *

His kiss found her while she was sleeping, warm and soft and light against her lips. It was almost a dream, but then he brushed her bangs away from her face. Eyes fluttering open, she blinked until she made out his uneasy expression in the darkness.

“Hiccup?”

His exhale warmed her throat as his gaze searched her face. “I want to make you my wife.”

* * *

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” she whispered in the darkness. Her palm pressed into his chest, feeling a quick thrum hammering beneath his ribcage.

“Isn’t yours?” he whispered back. His hand skimmed up her bare stomach and found the same place on her body, just above her breast. 

“Yeah.”

“Why are you criticizing me, then? Worry about your own heart.”

* * *

Her husband smelled like smoke and leather and he tasted like strong mead. He was inexperienced and awkward, but so was she, and the way his hands bracketed her waist felt good enough to forgive the imperfect rhythms and nervous swallows. 

Ruffnut was right– he had blacksmith’s hands. They were calloused and hardened, and she thought that part of that probably came from holding onto the handlebars of Toothless’ saddle. They shouldn’t have felt nice, as rough as they were, but she came to enjoy the scrape of his fingertips along the underside of her breasts. They were hands that she could memorize, recognize, appreciate. The kind of hands forged by hard work and a thousand fires. 

She liked the way he muttered irreverent swears in her neck. She liked how he grabbed her hips and held her still when their friction nearly undid him. If she squeezed him with muscles she hardly knew she owned, he would cuss and weakly groan some threat in her ear. It made her laugh, which was strange, because she didn’t ever think she’d laugh with him, much less laugh with him inside her. The breathless chuckles he breathed against her shoulder, those sounded almost as enticing as his rough panting.

He liked swallowing her moans. Whenever he’d stroke her just so or twist his hips so that his length reached deeper, he’d cover her mouth with his just in time to catch the answering whimper. There was no real need for them to whisper or keep quiet, but it almost felt as if by raising their voices, they’d break the strange cocoon of warmth and safety that surrounded them. 

He finished before she did, which was expected. And part of her was happy to feel him tense above her, to feel him breaking within her. Because his pleasure made her happy. And another part felt a fierce disappointment and baffling amusement. Disappointment, because she hadn’t wanted it to end. Amusement, because she’d once asked him to _get it over with_.

She shivered beneath the kisses he traced up and down her throat afterwards. Astrid decided that if Hiccup had shot her down like he’d done with Toothless, then this must be what it was like to fly again.


	2. Q&A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answering some questions from Tumblr

**Q &A**

**-**

**gwewen wondered: Arranged marriage AU: where do you imagine Astrid comes from? What is her family background, to make her a good inter-island alliance choice? Is her family more rich/important than in canon? Or was Stoick sold to her parents proposal because of her interaction with Hiccup/the dragons? I imagine at first she wasn't so hostile, without the marriage looming above her. And what compelled Astrid to agree, if she was so little enthusiast? Are those two younger than in canon?**

No, they’re both sequel-canon age. Twenty-ish.

Astrid comes from a little anti-dragon island to the west. It’s been one of the strongest opponents for making peace with the dragons ever since Berk started the movement. They’re still violent towards dragons, and they won’t trade with Berk because of their relationship with them. But they’ve slowly been becoming more used to the idea, accepting information and council discussions. Stoick takes Hiccup to sign the official treaty and give them advice/tips for dealing with the dragons in the future. That’s where he and Astrid meet for the first time. Her father and uncles are members of the council, so she sits in on the discussions and dinners that the Haddocks are a part of. They’re not exactly rich, but they are of considerably better status than I usually headcanon Astrid. Her family’s probably sixth or seventh in line for chiefdom.

Hiccup instantly falls head over heels for her. Think httyd1 Hiccup. She’s pretty, fierce, and even though she backs away from Toothless every time he attempts to get close for scratchies, she doesn’t threaten him or yell at him. Astrid thinks he’s quirky, intriguing, maybe a liiiittle handsome. She’s polite and makes conversation with him when they get shoved together (by meddling adults who notice the googoo eyes Hiccup gives Astrid) at tables and talks. She’s not particularly interested, since he’s still a “dragon lover”, but she doesn’t mind him as a companion for the few days he’s there.

She hears a few weeks later from her parents that Stoick is proposing a marriage with his son. And at first it doesn’t quite click— “a marriage with who?”. Her island’s like Berk: not a lot of young people. Once she figures out that they’re talking about HER, she’s livid. She could do marriage, sure. Astrid’s practical, knows that most marriages are political, not for love. She’s actually been ready for marriage, now that things are settling around the village. But she does NOT want to leave her home and DEFINITELY not for Berk, who’s been an unofficial enemy for five years now. She’s been expecting a proposal from some of the men on her island, maybe one of her ally’s suitors, not dragon-sympathizer Hiccup Haddock. But her parents are firm. They say that Stoick raved about her, that Hiccup adored her, and that she’d disgrace them by refusing the proposal.

On the other hand, Hiccup’s getting the same story. Stoick is a little nervous to talk to Hiccup about it, but he thinks it’s time for his son to settle down and start taking over the village. The Hoffersons’ proposal is well timed. And he does see the way his son watches the blonde from across the treaty talks, notices the bumbling way with which he tries to impress her. “They’ve just now agreed to peace, Hiccup! Yeh said yerself, yeh like the girl!” “I said LIKE, not ‘want pledge my eternal devotion to’!” But he’s the chief’s son, and he DOES like her. And from what the Hoffersons are saying, Astrid admires him and wants to be a part of the pro dragon movement. All he can see is the way the firelight glints off her kransen, the guarded blue eyes that he wants to explore like uncharted seas. So he— grudgingly— accepts and tries to stifle the urge to fly in the opposite direction. If it has to be someone, at least it’s her.

**Anonymous wondered: Hi, I was wondering, in the canon verse Hiccup and Astrid have been in a longtime relationship that has been built through the years with trust, loyalty, commitment and love, and that has lead to their marriage. But those feelings are not necessarily needed in an arranged marriage, I mean they are already married, but they do get to feel them. So how would they acknowledge those feelings and how would they express them to each other? Sorry for my English. Love you**

Not a problem! Well, that’s basically what the story’s about. The two of them are thrown into a marriage that they’re not really ready for, and they’re learning how to deal. I’ve spoken before about how unlikely I think it is that Hiccup would _let_ himself be roped into an arranged marriage, but I wanted to play with the idea. 

So it really breaks down to each of them working through different stages of their relationship. We’ll focus on Astrid first. She’s just been picked up and placed on an island of dragons, the things she’s feared and hated since she was a child. She sees Hiccup as this pompous, self-absorbed chief’s son. Spoiled as a child, raised to believe the world revolves around him, and that’s only gotten worse since he saved the village at fourteen and began taming dragons. Deep down, she knows that’s _not_ him— he’s the dorky, bumbling noodle she met at the treaty signing. But once she’s engaged, she can’t see past this picture of him that she paints for herself.

So she’s plenty surprised on her wedding night when he doesn’t try and have sex with her. It takes her aback to find out that he wasn’t the one to suggest the marriage, that he didn’t even _want_ the marriage. She’d been sure that he was the enemy, but now he’s this unlikely ally and an unwilling husband. So unwilling that he won’t even do his duty by her and consummate the marriage. She’s a little offended, a little pleased, and _very_ confused. When he says he’s going to sleep in the stables, that’s the first moment where she feels respect for him. She’s not sure what her emotions are doing, how they’re going to proceed, but he gives her the opportunity to spend her first night in her new home by herself so that she can get used to her surroundings. That’s why she stops him before he leaves, messes up his clothes. She can see the village gossiping about him, saying things about him or his *cough-cough* abilities, so since he’s doing her a favor, she does him one. And then over the next few days, as he continues to sleep downstairs, she’s a little put out, but mostly thankful. She doesn’t have to pretend to be okay with having sex with a man she hardly knows right away. He’s giving her time to get used to him. 

That’s the biggest thing that softens Astrid toward Hiccup. He doesn’t push her into anything she’s not ready for. He’s just a supportive presence. It’s so necessary for her because she needs time for her anger to wear away. She has to understand for herself that she can’t blame or punish Hiccup for this. So then once that sort of hostility fades, that’s when she feels okay telling him he can sleep in the bed with her. It’s no declaration of love— she still sees him as a near-stranger— but she acknowledges that it’s not his fault extends a hand of peace. From there, it’s a lot of watching him. She observes how he interacts with his family, his friends, his dragons. He’s confident but not cocky. Sarcastic but not mean. He has kind of an obnoxious laugh and a weird shoulder movement thing that he does whenever he talks. He blushes when the older men throw their arms around him and make lewd jokes, pushes his bangs back when he gets frustrated or excited, and he winces whenever Stoick the Vast starts bragging about him. She’s surprised to learn that he works in the forge, both because she didn’t think he’d worked a day in his life and because that means that he was the one to create the gorgeous axe she received as part of her wedding gifts. She studies him like she would study an opponent in the sparring ring, learning as much about him in as little time as possible.

It’s her first flight with Toothless, though, that really gets her interacting with Hiccup. Just like the first movie, she’s scared and annoyed at first, but then as she sees Berk from above— her new home, so quiet and lit up by firelight and stirring with life— she softens. It’s a view she’s never seen before, both literally and figuratively. She experiences flight for the first time, has to trust Toothless as much as she has to trust her new husband. For the most part, she keeps her arms tight around Hiccup until she’s comfortable, and it’s the most touching they’ve done since he took her hands for the wedding ceremony. They finally start talking, have conversations, discuss their sides of the engagement story and admit their reluctance to go into the marriage. Dialogue finally happens, establishing communication they didn’t have before. That’s when Astrid starts insisting on the sex thing— it’s a matter of legalities, now that they’ve both resigned to their fates. She wants it taken care of, to get it out of the way. But Hiccup, as he tells her, doesn’t want it to be something she dreads doing. Or something she feels like she _has_ to do. He wants it to be something they experience together because they _want_ to. 

So there’s a period of a couple weeks where Astrid keeps trying to throw herself at him but Hiccup keeps kind of easing out of it. She feels self conscious— a weird feeling for her— because she’s never heard of a man refusing sex. Vikings are supposed to be the manliest of men, famous for their drinking, fighting, and fucking. But she’s coming to learn that Hiccup’s everything Viking’s aren’t. Especially when she starts to discover that Hiccup used to be the outcast of the village. That he _didn’t_ live his whole life being catered to. Once she realizes that he risked a lot to bring peace to his island, and that he’s not the arrogant, dragon-loving chief’s heir she thought he was, that’s when she really starts falling for him. The more she hears about who he used to be _before_ he was the pride of Berk, the more _real_ he seems. She couldn’t do a hero husband who basks in the glory of success, but a screw-up who proved himself. That’s something she can admire. 

She waits up for him at night, finds his hand in the blankets of their bed, catches herself smiling while he’s goofing off with Toothless. It’s totally weird. He’s supposed to be the husband she hates, the impossible man she can’t stand to be around. He’s not supposed to be so funny, so dorky, so honest and exciting. He tells her stories when it’s late and dark and they’re in bed but not sleeping, mostly about new lands he’s explored with Toothless. And then he listens to hers, lets her talk about growing up as a warrior. He’s a good listener. And— she admits as she examines his profile in the moonlight— he’s not exactly unattractive. His smile is crooked and his nose is a little round, but his cheekbones and jaw make her feel warm. The scruff on his chin makes her want to trace her fingertips over his face, but she won’t. She likes going to the forge to watch him work, because he’s almost a completely different person there. Disciplined and detail-oriented, highly intelligent, focused and capable. Not to mention, she likes watching him throw heavy tools around, but she’s not going to admit that to herself, much less him. When the village ladies aren’t trying to teach her how to sew or cook or bothering her about when Berk’s going to have a new heir, she likes sneaking away to watch him from the forge door. Berkians whisper and chuckle as they notice Hiccup’s new wife peeking in the window, sighing as they think back on “new love”.

And then there’s Hiccup. Who has been into Astrid since the moment he saw her. I already discussed how he wasn’t into the marriage when it was suggested, but at the wedding itself, he was growing just a little okay with the idea. Once he saw how beautiful she looked in her wedding clothes, once he got to hold her dainty hand in his. She’d been a shield maiden on her island, guarded and frosty, but all made up for their wedding, she looks like a goddess. He’s nervous, reluctant, a little sore towards his dad for forcing him into this. But when he reaches for her on their wedding night, he does so with every intention of being as loving and gentle as he can. He thinks they’ll get to figure out sex and marriage together, that they’ll work together to get to know each other and make the best of this uncomfortable situation. And all that is— of course— shattered. Astrid goes from sweet and smiling to cold and detached in the time it takes for him to take off her bridal crown. It gives him a little whiplash, because he’s been fed this whole idea of Astrid being more into him than he is to her. But now he’s finding out it’s the exact opposite. She wants nothing to do with him. That’s why he flips out a little bit. If she’d told him, if he’d known, if she’d just said something at the handsal, or even the morning of the ceremony, he would’ve stopped it! He would have told their families no, he wouldn’t go through with it. But because he thought she liked him, he decided to obey his father’s orders. 

So we get this sort of flip flop. Astrid thought it was Hiccup’s fault, but then she realizes it wasn’t. And now he _does_ think it’s _her_ fault. For the first couple of days, he’s incredibly put out. He’s angry with her for not saying anything, angry for his dad for forcing him into this, angry at her parents for lying to them, and angry with himself for doing the wedding. He seriously considers running away, just taking off on Toothless and disappearing. But he loves his village too much, and he doesn’t feel like he can abandon Astrid when she’s just as stuck as he is. So after he sulks for a few days, he decides he has to make the best of it. He’s not one to sit and leave things the way they are. 

So he tries to be friendly and honorable. He sleeps downstairs, until she invites him upstairs into their room. And then after that, he makes sure not to touch her, always being careful to stay on his side of the bed. Every now and then, he’ll be tempted by the curve of her hip beneath the blankets, and he’ll trace his fingers just centimeters above her skin, but then he always sighs and turns over. He tries to help her make friends with the other people their age, introduces her to other villagers. She’s distant, but not cold. She’s not hostile, just reserved. If he gets her talking, she’ll come out of her shell and melt a little. Sometimes she’ll smile at something Fishlegs says, which makes him both really excited but also a little jealous because he’s yet to make her smile. 

His only real problem with her is how she sees dragons. They’re still the enemy to her, so she backs away from them when they get close. She wrinkles her nose at them and flinches if Toothless comes near. Hiccup doesn’t like it. He’s lived in a pro-dragon village for so long that people who aren’t used to them just seem close-minded and violent. He worries about her being alone with Toothless. 

And then he catches her rubbing the Night Fury’s tail the night of the storm. When his leg is bothering him and old phantom pains are flaring up. He’s too embarrassed to let her see his nub yet, so he asks her for a few minutes alone. And he really just expects her to curl up by the fire or clean the kitchen or something. He doesn’t expect to leave the bedroom and find Toothless wrapped around her while she massages his own aches. And it feels a little bit like he just got kicked in the stomach. In a good way. The firelight’s glinting off her hair, which is unbraided but in a loose knot. Toothless’ eyes are closed and he’s purring so loudly it almost sounds like the rain on the rooftop. And it’s such a domestic scene that for a second he can almost imagine his life like this— him and Toothless and Astrid, and maybe…

It sticks with him. The picture’s in his head and now he can’t get it out. Suddenly he can’t help but curl his arm around her waist while she’s sleeping— even if he has to pretend like he’s asleep when she wakes and finds it there. He finds himself shortening his late night flights so he can get home in time to watch her take down her hair. He feels like he can trust her, and that’s been a wedge that he didn’t realize was sticking between them. Now that it’s out of the way, now that she’s warming up to him, he can’t take his eyes off her. 

They’re in this new stage of their relationship that’s so weird to both of them— they have crushes on their spouse. Villagers start to tease them because they stare at each other from across the Great Hall. Stoick comes over for dinner, and Hiccup spends the whole time talking about how good Astrid’s cooking is even though they both know perfectly well that she’s terrible at it. She blushes when she climbs into Toothless’ saddle and feels her center pressed against his lower back, and he clears his throat and tries to not think about the softness of her breasts pressing into his shoulderblades. They’re the only ones who know that they haven’t actually had sex yet, so they both redden and stammer when anyone asks about their married life. The minute anyone tries to make fun of Hiccup in front of her, Astrid shuts them down. Any time Hiccup sees her inching away from Hookfang or Skullcrusher, he takes her hand and presses it to their scales until her uneasiness fades. It’s all butterflies and red cheeks and racing hearts. 

And then one night Hiccup can’t sleep. And he’s got his head propped up on his hand watching Astrid sleep, and he keeps reaching out to trace his fingertips just above her lips. Like jumping off his dragon— trying to get as close as he can to flying. His heart keeps pounding in his chest, no matter how many times he tries to close his eyes and drift off. She’s so pretty. He’s known that since the moment he saw her, but now he knows what she looks like when she’s smiling. She’s pretty when she laughs, when she sleeps. When her hair is stringy and windswept and when it’s thick and wavy around her shoulders. She’s not just the unattainable girl sitting with him at a meeting miles and miles from home. Not just a dream— she’s real. Real and warm and within his reach. So he leans over and kisses her. 

If you read the drabble, you know what happens from there-on out. But that’s basically their journeys with coming to terms with their feelings. It’s not _love_ yet, of course. It’ll take a few months of marriage before that solidifies, but it’s definitely a closeness and strong affection. It would take a couple more years before they’re at the level they’re at in the sequel. Right now it’s still all infatuation and puppy love.

**gwewen wondered: Hello! First of all, you are awesome and write awesome things :D Now that that's out of my system: how would your arranged marriage!AU tie to HTTYD2, since the cast is the same age in that AU? Do you see anything happening differently? Would Stoick's demise put more a strain on Hiccup's relationship with Astrid, since they haven't a five years 'history' to fall back to? Would Valka affect them differently?**

(Hi sweetheart! Love you too!)

I’d say things would definitely get thrown out of wack if Hiccup and Astrid’s marriage had been arranged before the sequel events. The whole thing’ll be a ripple effect. For one, Hiccup’s gonna feel more responsibility to stay and help Astrid get accustomed to Berk. That’ll either A– send him running like he’s already doing in the canon sequel or B– keep him on the ground. That’ll delay him finding Valka for a year or two OR he’ll find her faster. Then since Astrid hasn’t had a lifetime to get attached to Hiccup, Stoick, and Gobber, she wouldn’t disobey Stoick’s orders to return to Berk and wait. In fact, she probably wouldn’t even follow with the rest of the dragon riders to “save” Hiccup because she’s still uneasy with dragons. She wouldn’t go to Drago, wouldn’t alert him to the dragon riders existence. Drago wouldn’t change his plans and come to Berk.

So what’s that mean? Stoick and Valka would actually get more than two scenes before things go to hell. Valka would probably return to Berk and everything would be turned on it’s head. I don’t think she’d give up on rescuing dragons, though, so eventually she (and Hiccup?) WOULD catch Drago’s attention. If we assume that things would play out as they do in the sequel, that Stoick sacrifices himself to save Hiccup and Toothless overcomes the Bewilderbeast, things won’t be so different so far as outcomes, but Hiccup’s grieving process would be vastly different.

First things first, though, I definitely think that Berk’s recovery is going to strengthen their relationship instead of strain it. So far, Hiccup and Astrid have had a tentative, actions-more-than-words kind of love for each other. But in the aftermath of Drago’s attack, they’re really going get to see each other’s strengths. For the past six months (ish), Hiccup’s biggest responsibility has been forge work– becoming chief is going to change him completely. He matures almost instantly (he doesn’t really have a choice), and Astrid sees that. She’ll tell him to slow down and take a breath instead of rolling her eyes at his antics. And Hiccup’s really going to see her step up and take on the role of a chief’s wife. He’s going to find out that he can depend on her. She’ll take Toothless flying without having to be asked so he can sleep a little more or chew out a villager that’s giving him a hard time. I also think being married’ll make his grieving easier– there’ll be someone nearby 24/7 he can talk to on the nights when he breaks down, someone to make sure he’s eating meals, somebody to hold him when he wakes from nightmares. Astrid’s not going to be as confident in those situations– she’s not sure how best to comfort him, but she’ll do the best she can.

As for Valka, I think they’d actually get along better in this AU than they would in canon. In canon, Astrid’s had years of seeing the Haddocks’ loss, listening to Hiccup’s grief over never having met her. She’d be a little angry with Valka for causing them such pain. This Astrid didn’t grow up on Berk, though. She wouldn’t see Valka as such a traitor. If anything, she might see a little bit of herself in Valka– who she might have been if she’d decided to live her own life and not go through with the marriage. It would be weird for her, and she wouldn’t be as critical of her new mother in law, but I’d say Hiccup would need both of them (and Gobber) to deal with all the sudden changes in his life.

There would also be a sudden, awkward talk about birth control between the newlyweds. (Probably in canon verse too, though obviously it wouldn’t be mentioned.) Lots of blushing and stammering on Hiccup’s part, a couple of good punches from Astrid. They’ve had enough responsibilities dropped on their laps, and Hiccup would be all at once PAINFULLY aware of how bad of a time it would be to have a baby. Even if the villagers are suddenly nudging him about securing an heir.

**Anonymous wondered: I know you said you're kinda done with the arranged marriage au, but I just love the awkward situation where they are married, but don't have to be in love, and yet they love each other so they don't know how to handle or express it. So if it is possible, can I request Astrid comforting Hiccup after Stoick's death**

I wouldn’t say I’m DONE with the arranged marriage AU– I simply don’t have an avenue I’m taking right now. Same thing happened with the Sacrifice au– it waited for months before somebody threw some inspiration into my inbox. Now it’s exploded. That said, I don’t feel comfortable killing off Stoick in that AU. So much of the premise is Astrid getting used to Berk and its inhabitants, and having Stoick as a new father in law is part of that. I also don’t plan on bringing either Drago or Valka in– most of my AUs don’t– simply because I don’t feel the need to rehash the sequel. Really, placing these two in the sequel scenario wouldn’t be some great thing– Astrid’s comfort means so much to Hiccup after his father’s death because they _do_ have that strong relationship. What it is now– that wouldn’t do anything for him. In fact, it’d probably make Hiccup even more uncomfortable, because now not only does he have no say in his position as chief, he also didn’t get a say in his wife. No sense of control or freedom, and as infatuated as they’re growing, some near-stranger woman isn’t going to be able to help him heal the way his canon relationship can. And then would that bring in Valka– _another_ woman he has to suddenly embrace as family? It’s just not what I think you were wanting.

Instead, I really like the idea of Astrid treading really lightly around her “new dad”. Back home, everything is very intense, including her parents. Coming to a place that’s embracing peace, and seeing what used to be a legend in the dragon-killing community embracing that way of life– that’s very unfamiliar to her. Stoick _should_ be the closest thing to her home village’s culture, but instead, he’s happy and loud and proud of his son’s accomplishments. She doesn’t know how to process it. Not only that, Stoick likes playing matchmaker– he’s a little nosy that way. He’s all about “checking in” and “welcoming” her to the family. Might even drop a casual hint here and there that an heir might strengthen their islands’ alliance and secure the Haddock line. All in good time of course, cough cough, ahem ahem. She didn’t expect the Haddock men to be as _warm_ as they are, if not a little awkward. Where Hiccup is sarcastic and sometimes a little distant, his dad is boisterous and sincere. Hiccup walks away from fights and avoids conflict, but Stoick almost stubbornly stands his ground. But they’re both friendly and hard-working. Both dedicated to their village and a little charmingly awkward with uncomfortable situations.

Then you’ve got Hiccup, whose relationship with Stoick has been a little iffy since the entire marriage contract was drawn up. He feels like he was tricked into the whole thing, like his dad was manipulative and dishonest. And while he knows it wasn’t his fault for the most part, he’s still kind of licking his wounds– his clipped wings if you will. He’s having to learn that, while he didn’t get as much freedom to choose his bride, the woman he married is good for him. So as he grows into his position as a husband, he’s grudgingly looking to his dad for advice on things he’s never considered before. Why does she say she’s fine if she’s not? What did I do wrong? How do I make her feel like she’s a part of this family/village? Hiccup’s been walking his own path for several years now, introducing Berk to a new way of life, but now he’s headed into unknown territory, and he’s learning more about his dad and his parents’ marriage than he ever expected to. A whole new aspect to their relationship.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup's POV, squeezed somewhere in the middle of the first chapter.

**Chapter Two**

**-**

The sound of a throat clearing behind him made Hiccup jump. He side stepped to find Gobber leaning over his shoulder, hands held behind his back and a smug smile hidden in the fringe of his mustache. 

“If yeh keep starin’ like that, yeh’ll leave burn marks on yer pretty new wife,” he chuckled teasingly. 

Hiccup stammered and blinked back at Astrid. She had her arm around her mother’s waist as they walked down the dock, and warm wind was blowing whisps of hair loose from her marriage braids. The morning sun glinted off her blonde crown, glittering and drawing his eye no matter how many times he forced his gaze away.

“I was just observing,” he coughed, nodding and running a hand through his hair. “Dad threatened to steal Toothless’ tailfin if I wasn’t here this morning.”

The pier was busy and bustling, ships loading with wedding guests and trunks of gifts. It was proper for him to be there, to see Astrid’s family off, but he still felt awkward and out of place among her people. She stuck out now too, dressed in loose fabrics instead of warm travelling clothes. Her expression was a little sad as she spoke to her mother. Though she was too far away for him to hear her words, he suspected she was unhappy to be left behind. _He_ would be, if he had to stay with an entirely new village.

“Uh huh,” Gobber snickered, giving him a hard clap on the shoulder and a gentle shake. “Don’t worry about it— nothin’ wrong with enjoyin’ the pleasures of a newly married man.”

Hiccup didn’t miss the lewd emphasis he placed on _pleasures_ or the not-so-subtle lift of his bushy brows. He prayed that the warmth in his cheeks didn’t look as red as it felt.

Pleasures. Right. 

So far, the closest he’d come to marital bliss was the press of Astrid’s palm against his crotch while she tried to rush him into deflowering her. He knew he was in a sad state, because those few brief, warm strokes kept plaguing his thoughts. It was almost too uncomfortable to sleep next to her. He’d spent hours ignoring the burning pressure at his groin and trying to scrub the image of her straddling his hips from his mind.

Astrid was pretty. It wasn’t even a matter of opinion or bias. She was big blue summer sky eyes, creamy skin spattered with light freckles, and high, smooth cheekbones. He wasn’t blind to her beauty— it was what caught his attention the day they met. But something about this entire forced marriage had put a damper on his desire. That changed after her first flight, when her cheeks were red and wind-burned and her eyes were a little wild. It was like looking at her for the first time.

And now, it seemed, he couldn’t look away. She’d traded in her quiet stoicism for shrieks of excitement laughed into his back. A placid and polite poise for a fist to his cousin’s jaw. A tight smile for a genuine one. It was devastating, world changing. Before, she was too cold and unattainable, but this new side of her felt like spring. 

It was almost embarrassing. That morning, after tossing and turning through the night, he’d opened bleary eyes and found himself incapable of closing them. The morning light streamed through their bedroom window, casting rivers of gold across the bed, and she seemed to glow wherever they touched her. Curled up on her side and facing him, she slept on despite the bright sun. He must have stolen the blankets in his sleep— they were all crooked and pulled aside, only reaching over her hips. Her nightgown was slipping off her shoulder to reveal pale skin.

It was a sight any man would kill for. Kill _him_ for. Her cheek was squished against the pillow, her lips parted around slow, even breaths. Fingers curled just slightly into the pillowcase. Blonde hair fell over the mattress, her neck, her face… He was even beginning to find strands of it on his clothes during the day. But even if she wasn’t a particularly graceful sleeper, she was still impossibly stunning.

He reached out a sleep-heavy hand, fingertips hovering _just_ over the bare skin of her shoulder. Then he slid down her upper arm and along her ribcage, into the valley of her waist and back over the swell of her hip. After, he followed the line of her arm and wrist, floating just above each finger as he traced them. Dust danced in the light surrounding them, making the whole moment seem like something magical out of a dream. A week ago, he was in his father’s house. Now he was in his own, lying next to a woman so beautiful she had to be mythical. It didn’t feel real.

Toothless had come clawing at the bed then, whirring and whining and nodding towards the closed sky-light. He hadn’t wanted to, but he crawled away from his sleeping wife and attended to his antsy dragon before they woke her.

“I have ta give it ta Stoick,” Gobber said, pulling him from his memory. “He was right. I told him the marriage was a bad idea, but he said ‘just wait ‘til yeh see how he watches her’.” With another low chuckle, his mentor gave him a heavy pat on the back.

Hiccup frowned, glancing away from Astrid once more to look at him. The marriage _was_ a bad idea. Based on lies from both sides and begun before he and his wife even knew each other. It was a dirty, political trick that he wished he’d never sworn into.

There was a flash of gold, and his eyes went back to the glimmer of blonde hair. 

Still. If he had to be stuck with someone. For now, he was glad it was her. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

**-**

She doesn’t know if she should knock. The blacksmith back home was a large bear of a man who cussed at her every time she came in with another request, always complaining of her constant attention to detail. Her axe has to be sharpened often or it doesn’t cut right during her workouts. The head has to be tightened almost weekly because of how much use it gets, and if his adjustments knock it out of whack, it needs to be rebalanced or it won’t feel right in her hand. She has high standards, she knows, and her old blacksmith gave her flack for it. 

But Hiccup told her to drop by if she ever needed anything. She’s only been in the forge once or twice, neither time with a request, but he always seems busy. Astrid hesitates by the door, thumb rubbing at a familiar notch in her weapon’s handle. But then she takes a deep breath and steps inside. 

“Hiccup?” 

He stops mid-swing, hammer poised over his head to strike. Looking up, he lets his arm fall to his side and gives her a grin. “Evening, milady. Did I miss dinner again?”

“Oh,” she stammers, looking back out into the dark evening. She’s not sure herself. “I don’t think so. I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention either.” Lifting her axe, she glances down and twists it this way and that in her grip. “I was wondering if you could maybe sharpen this for me?”

The hammer makes a dull thunk as he casually sets it down on the workbench. “Yeah, let me take a look at it,” he says, wiping his sweaty forehead on his sleeve. His face is a little red with exertion, his hair and the collar of his shirt dark and damp. As he gently takes her axe from her, she notices the flexing of the muscles in his forearm. His work apron covers most of his frame, but she can still let her eyes drift over the span of his shoulders, down his chest and along his arms. She hopes he doesn’t catch her sly inspection as he tests the weight of the weapon in his hand. 

“You keep it in pretty good shape, for an old one.” He starts towards the grinding wheel, but then pauses, looking back and cringing. “I mean, the _axe_ is old. Not you. You’re not old.”

“Uhhuh,” she replies, resisting the tug at the corner of her mouth. Following him towards the other side of the room, she leans against a work stool. “It was my mom’s. My dad bought her a new one after I was born.” It even makes her a little nervous to place it in the hands of a new blacksmith, but she isn’t going to tell him that. 

“Heirloom,” he nods, setting the edge against the stone wheel and stepping rhythmically against the pedal. It begins to spin and scrape, making her shift nervously against her seat. The way he holds it, though, is much different than the grip of her old smith. One hand curls tightly along the handle, while his long fingers rest carefully along the gleaming axe-head, holding the edge steady. His gaze is narrowed with focus, the tip of his tongue creeping over his lower lip.

After a moment, he lifts it, inspects it, and then flips it to the other side. “I never knew my mom. My helmet’s made from part of her breast plate, though.” Hiccup keeps his eyes on her axe, and she likes that. “My dad’s got a matching one.” 

She’s not exactly sure what to say to that, so they sit in quiet for a few minutes as he carefully sharpens each side. He works his mouth when he’s paying close attention to something, his lips sometimes parting, sometimes pressing together. A bead of sweat glints off the muscles in his neck as he seems to quirk his jaw to one side or the other. When he hands it back to her, she’s pleased. The blade is sharp and even, and it doesn’t tilt one way or the other in her grasp. 

“Pretty impressive,” she admits with a small smile. She’s heard that her husband is a competent blacksmith, but it’s a relief to see for herself. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

He raises a brow at her and snorts, tugging on his gloves as he returns to the anvil. “More than a third of the blankets?”

Astrid feels her cheeks burn, and it’s not from the warm heat emanating from the shimmering forge. “I told you I could get another from the chest,” she mumbles, fiddling with her bangs. “I meant more along the lines of monetary compensation.”

“You’re my wife,” he laughs, picking up his tongs and returning to his project. “That has to come with _some_ benefits.”

She awkwardly shifts her weight from one foot to the other, holding her axe close to her chest. “Still. You’re a craftsman. I’d pay Gobber if he was here.”

“Fine,” he sighs sharply. “You can pay me.” The forge pops and crackles as he warms the still-shapeless metal over the flames. She can tell he’s embarrassed, because he doesn’t look up when he speaks. “One kiss.”

Her brows jump a little, and her heart trips in her ribcage. “Now?”

Shaking his head, Hiccup pulls the red-hot iron from the fire and lays it against the anvil. He switches a pair of tongs for his hammer. “To be redeemed at a time of my choosing.”

Warmth flushes her cheeks again, and she glances at the floor as she eases up onto the stool. “Okay.” Part of her twinges with disappointment. But another deeper, hopeful part of her wonders if he’ll request that kiss later in the evening. After he’s finished with work and they’ve retired to their bed. Excitement sizzles over her skin like static electricity, making her hands tighten on her weapon. 

He hasn’t been intimate with her since that first time almost a week ago. Maybe he’s not sure how she feels about it, or maybe he’s just still adjusting to the newness of it, like she is. She knows he desires her, because sometimes she’ll glance up to find his eyes on her, and he’ll quickly look away. Sometimes he waits a heartbeat before averting his gaze, staring at her with a strange warmth until something diverts his attention. But neither of them will take the plunge and initiate a moment of intimacy. 

She watches him as he works, gnawing her lower lip into her mouth. He throws his entire body into each swing of his hammer, accenting some blows with a soft grunt under his breath. It reminds her a little of those moments between the bed furs, under the cover of night. Pressing her knees together, she exhales and lingers on the memory of his hips working between her thighs. She doesn’t have a reason to stay, but she doesn’t want to go either. 

“You’re good with your hands,” she comments, and then almost regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips. 

He pauses to catch his breath, lifting his left hand and examining the front and back. “I’m okay, I guess. Really didn’t have much of a choice. I got into so much trouble as a kid, Dad pretty much picked me up and carried me by the shirt to the forge. Figured if Gobber couldn’t put me to work, nobody could.”

She snorts softly, imagining a frustrating little Hiccup running around wreaking havoc. “I just mean… You talk with your hands, y’know, and you’re always building stuff. You can draw, and when you–” She cuts off abruptly after realizing her last point is not for polite conversation. “Anyways. You use your hands a lot.”

“And it shows,” he chuckles, setting down his tools. He pulls at the fingertips of his gloves until he can slip them off, then steps towards her. “Blacksmith’s hands.”

She sets her axe down on the work table and pulls his outstretched hands closer so she can inspect them. They’re a little damp and several degrees warmer than her own. Callouses cover his palms and the insides of his fingers– some red and angry and some pale with age. He’s also got scars running up and down his wrists, long-healed burns and welts caught between his knuckles. The thumb of his right hand crooks to the side a little bit, evidence of a break that refused not quite right. His nails are short and wide, his palms missing wrinkled lines in patches. 

Her thumbs rub over the scarred over places, and she feels her breath quicken. Astrid tilts her head. “I’ve noticed some of these before.” With her eyes _and_ her skin.

“Mm. They’re practically inflammable by now. Between this place and the dragons, I’m pretty sure I’ve grown Gronkle skin.” When she glances up, he’s looking at her, the shadows of the forge making his pupils large and dark. He has long lashes– they flutter as he searches her face.

They’re quiet. She holds onto his hands, not letting go, and he watches her uncertain expression.

“Forget what I said,” he suddenly announces, clearing his throat. “I want that kiss now.”

Despite herself, she smiles a little. Her heart races. But she doesn’t waste any bashfulness on this kiss, promptly tilting her chin upwards and leaning close so that she can brush her lips across his. Before she can pull back, he steals a hand away to secure their mouths together. A thrill crackles down her spine. Between them, his fingers curl around the ones she uses to explore his palms. 

Fire catches in her blood, stoked by the heat radiating from him in waves. She can smell the sweat on him, the faint scent of his body odor. It should be unappealing, combined with the bite of hot metal, but it’s not. The skip of her pulse accelerates to a hard pounding. Her head spins as she gasps for air, and his teeth find the soft flesh of her lower lip. The gentle nibbling makes her feel brave– she pulls his hand close and presses it to her ribcage, just above her waist. 

His tongue slides over the bite marks he was too gentle to leave, then ventures further into her mouth. She feels his fingers hesitate, and then they brush along the undersides of her breast. He breaks their kiss just long enough to ask, “Is this okay?”

“I put it there for a reason,” she whispers back, commanding herself not to blush. His fingertips search with a firmer touch, learning the swell of flesh beneath them. The jolts of pleasure that wrack her cause her chest to squeeze the breath from her lungs. Her exhale escapes into his parted lips sounding like a tremulous moan.

The warmth of his hand burns through her shirt and even her bindings. Every light skim leaves trails of tingling heat, and when he ghosts over the center where her nipples hide, she inhales sharply. Astrid tilts her head into his palm and tastes his tongue with her own– this kind of kissing is new and erotic and exciting. Nothing like the innocent kisses they’ve traded so far. She pulls him closer by his apron, her knees parting to bring his body nearer to hers. Hiccup responds by knotting his fingers in her marriage braids and kneading her breast. She arches into him and his hands and his kiss.

“I like it when you touch me,” she confesses after his careful exploration has worked her to panting and squirming for more. “I like your hands.”

“I– I like touching you,” he answers. His own breaths are coming hard, tickling her hypersensitive lips and chin. As he swallows, his gaze drops from her face to her breasts. And then, she thinks, lower– for just a second before flicking back up. 

Astrid’s eyes cut to the half-open forge door. It’s late– she’s not sure _how_ late exactly– but someone could still come in looking for Hiccup. She should do the proper thing and end this indiscreet tryst. Go home and wait for one of them to find their courage again later. But she feels that desire, that hunger. She craves him in _that_ place, where she’s still just beginning to understand the sensations of pleasure and arousal and need.

In an impetuous and brazen decision, she takes Hiccup’s wrist and pulls him to her inner thigh. She can’t say it– she doesn’t have the words– but when she glances up at him from beneath her lashes, she knows he understands her intentions. He stares at her, watching for any sign of protest in her features as his fingers advance beneath her skirt.

The air in the room feels thin and hot and hard to breathe. She presses open-mouthed kisses against his neck, trying to draw oxygen into her lungs. It’s dizzying, difficult to focus. His hand cups her mound over her leggings, and a moan scrapes from her throat. He takes a breath that sounds nervous, taking a step closer. 

It suddenly occurs to her that if he’s shaking as badly as she is, then his body must be screaming with that same imperative. She thinks of the length he pressed inside her several nights ago, wondering if it scorches him the same way she suffers. Her foot drops to a lower rung, and she shyly reaches for his hip to pull him against her thigh. She has to tug his apron aside so that she can nudge her knee between his legs, but when he lets her pull him closer, he groans. She feels it, hard and burning between the few layers of clothing. 

“Is this–?” he murmurs, peeling back the waistband of her leggings. 

She bites her lip and nods enthusiastically, forehead pressed to his shoulder. The sight between them– the way his hand disappears between her skirt and the ridge straining against his pants– makes her feel like a deviant. His fingers slip into her tights, fumbling for purchase for a moment, but then he brushes over the damp curls of her swollen lips. Astrid has to grab his upper arms to steady herself or she’ll lose her balance on her stool. 

Hiccup swallows hard and grinds against her thigh. His fingertips clumsily part her folds, sliding through an almost embarrassing slickness. They circle and rub and search, exploring as he tests her reactions, until he finds a place that makes her whimper and buck against his hand. They exchange gasps of conversation between her panting and his occasional hiss of pleasure.

“Does that–?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay? Last time–”

“It’s not like last time,” she breathes into his skin. Then she adds. “Last time was fine.”

Barely able to think clearly, she allows her own hand to tentatively search out the shape of him against the leather of his pants. He instantly reacts to her touch, hips jerking forward as if of their own will. 

“Hah– ah. What– what feels better? This or… this?”

“That. There. Yes, _oh.”_

Her spine bows against him when his finger buries inside her. It’s reminiscent of the sensation of him entering her the first time, but not quite enough. Her desperate moans climb an octave, thin and reedy and too too loud in the quiet forge. 

“Do you want… We shouldn’t, but– Thor, I want you.”

Nothing he could’ve said would make her tighten and whine the way she does at that simple admission. 

“Yes. Yes.” 

Their hands grow clumsy after that. He takes a step back, and she’s shimmying her leggings down her thighs as he’s tearing off his apron and tossing it over her forgotten axe. The sound of their clothes rustling is thrilling, the clink of his belt buckle making her that much more excited. When he returns to her, and she can finally feel his rough hands against her bare skin, some strong wave of relief makes her realize that this is what she’s wanted all along. 

Hiccup lifts her knees above his hips, wrapping her legs around his waist, and then she’s holding onto him as he guides himself between her thighs. He doesn’t slide in on the first try– the tip slips upwards, against that electric spot. She’s halfway through a sharp inhale when he takes her by the waist and sinks inside. Her jaw goes slack, her groan caught in her throat, and he shudders. A rough expletive rasps against her pulse point.

It’s as odd as the first time, feeling so full and so invaded and so close to him. But it’s better– so much better. The awkward shyness has receded, the blushing and embarrassment dissolved. There’s no obligatory formality behind their touches, no ceremony. Just her dripping desire and his throbbing need. 

Her body makes wet and sloppy noises as he rocks in and out of her clutching heat. It’s difficult sitting straight– she has to brace a hand against the work table. With every hard thrust of his hips, the legs of the stool beneath her tilt dangerously, making her nervous. But the friction of him inside her is too good, too perfect for her to ask him to slow or stop. He keeps an arm wrapped around her waist, and she holds onto his shoulder for security.

“Hiccup,” she breathes, like a prayer. His nails scrape her through her shirt when his hand turns to a claw at her back. 

Part of her is surprised that his name comes to her lips in such a scandalous moment, that he himself becomes the object of her begging. It’s hard to hold onto him in the daylight– to believe he’s really her husband. A man she can take by the hand, whose mouth she can kiss, whose heavy breaths she falls asleep to. But in the dark, in the shadows, he feels like safety. A partner in illicit affairs, her closest companion in a village of near strangers. The strength of such a newly struck bond– it’s stunning. In the sun, among their friends and family, she doesn’t even have the courage to stand too close. But now, with their bodies tangled and misted with sweat, there’s no pretense or shame.

“Hiccup,” she whimpers again, and he groans, pressing his forehead to hers. His strokes are deep and sharp and almost a little painful in the way he shoves into her, but it’s wonderful and exquisite and each plunging motion slides past a place inside that makes every muscle tighten. “I want you. Hiccup.”

His mouth crashes against her just as he increases his pace, muffling the yelp that jumps from her throat. He’s so warm. So overwhelming. So rough and somehow gentle in every thrust. Her words are lost, a scrambled combination of pleading and encouragement and _I want you, I want you._ His short grunts make her belly tighten, his sweat and steel scent assaults her senses. 

She slips away before she knows what’s happening, holding onto Hiccup and gasping for hot, metallic-tasting air. She thinks she’s falling, because she can’t help but press herself against him and cry out, but he’s holding her too tightly to let her drop. The waves of shimmering pleasure pull at her as her muscles flex and flutter around him. In the haze of ecstasy, she hears his strangled groan and knows that he can feel it too. 

The bright sensation lasts for several seconds, leaving her trembling and whimpering even after his uneven motions slow to a stop. Her legs twitch and slip from around his waist. She sags against him and simply tries to catch her breath. When she rests her head against his chest, she can hear his heart racing at a pace just as lethal as hers. 

Then there’s the sound of a creaking door. An, “ _Oh.”_

Both of their heads snap up at the noise, and Astrid tugs at the hem of her skirt. Gobber stands in the doorway, his hands on his hips and a grin trying to twist free beneath his mustache. His gaze is averted, but it’s clear that he’s not the one embarrassed to be caught in this situation. Hiccup makes a choking noise and takes a step forward to cover her. 

“Gobber! What are you doing here?!”

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” His chuckle sounds a little too pleased. “I should’ve known better than to go looking for newlyweds.”


End file.
